


Don’t Forget Yourself

by Catharrington



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern Era, Non-Graphic Violence, Steve Harrington is just doing his best, superhero au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22951510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catharrington/pseuds/Catharrington
Summary: ‘When he woke up the yellow light was a dull headache on his temple. He cracked his eyes to familiar Christmas lights strung over a familiar bedroom. This could very well be heaven, but Billy knew it wasn’t. He cheated death one more time. That idea brought a smile to his face.’
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	Don’t Forget Yourself

Billy climbed to his feet the best he could with 3 bullets lodged inside this rib cage. His vision was blurring.

  
The sounds and smells of a fight were coming back to him in waves, echos from the alleyway he was in right now, and some ghostly noises from the past. Gun shots rang in his ears constantly, one after the other, all shot at close range, all meeting their mark.

  
He had just barely escaped by using the gang leader’s assumption that Billy was dead to his advantage. Surely no mortal man could take what he gave. No one normal could withstand the abuse. But he failed to notice that Billy was not normal, and not mortal.

Cold body slumped still over on the ground, Billy allowed the man to cock strut around. All the while Billy’s skilled fingers worked to unbind himself from the chair, fingernails digging frantically. He felt the cords around him snap, but it was really too late. He had taken so much gun powder and blood was quickly pooling around his feet.

Billy might be strong but his body worked the same way as anyone else, with blood pumping through veins and into the heart and if he didn’t have that then his body will fail like any other. No matter how strong he was.

All Billy had the strength to do was shatter the chair holding him to splinters before driving one of its wooden legs through the back of the notorious gang leader.

Billy didn’t take the time to make sure the job was done. He couldn’t. He used the chaos as an exit window.

Now he found himself chased down an unsuspecting alleyway. Bricks loomed over his head on either side as he swayed about drunkenly. In the quiet chill of the night air, goosebumps decorated his body, cold and blood loss didn’t help in moving his legs forward.

But his hands finally grasped what he had been looking for, a fire escape ladder left down. He was sure he relied on muscle memory to find it because his eyes were swimming heavy in his skull.

Billy used all his strength to lift himself, usually he could bench the weight of a damn car three times over, but now he was running on empty. He hauled himself up into bar, after bar, after bar, climbing with the last bit of his strength. A window glowed soft yellow at the top of the ladder, a beacon of hope or a ticket to the after life, Billy really couldn’t care. He just needed to get there.

Reaching the top of the stairs and getting up into the metal balcony felt like breaking the oceans surface for a breath of air. He breathed and breathed until his lungs felt like they were full of liquid, and where did those bullets hit? He might as well have been breathing blood for all he knew.

Just as his air supply was giving out on him the window to the balcony slid open and an angel emerged from the yellow light. Billy could have sworn he heard his name in trumpets, harps, and song as he finally let himself pass out.

When he woke up the yellow light was a dull headache on his temple. He cracked his eyes to familiar Christmas lights strung over a familiar bedroom. This could very well be heaven, but Billy knew it wasn’t. He cheated death one more time. That idea brought a smile to his face.

“You have enough energy to smile, that’s a good sign.” From the side of the bed rang that angel’s song again, the voice of a pretty boy. Chocolate brown hair pushed back away from his face with a thin hair band, very helpful in allowing Billy to see that he had a light sheen of sweat or maybe something else highlighting his forehead and his wondrous cheekbones.

Billy’s smile widened. “Have to smile when I see you,” he forced from his lips and regretted it when his throat felt like sandpaper, and tongue heavier than an iron ore, but it was the truth. The blush that formed under the smeared blood on the other boy’s cheeks were completely worth it.

“Sweet talk isn’t really important right now, Asshole. Stay still.”

Billy couldn’t, not with the other so close. He reached out for his angel, the motion made new stitches dotting his chest pull, but he kept reaching until he felt soft flannel pajama bottoms under his hands. He used just the tips of his fingers to kneed into the muscle, a prayer, a thank you, an invitation. “Steve,” he let the name roll like prayer from his lips.

“Stop it, right now,” the other boy, Steve, pushed Billy’s hand back to rest at his side.

“Stop it,” he demanded again.

In the soft light around the bed Billy could see his sweet brown eyes grow heavy with tears. “You never listen! To anything I say! And this- this shit happens- every fucking time this shit happens!”

His breath caught in a sob but he continued, “I don’t care if you can take it, I don’t care if it’s for the greater good bullshit! Did it ever occur to you that I can’t take it!” His voice was hushed sobs, a relentless assault of waves crashing into Billy. The work of words that have been held back by sandbags for too long. They finally crashed out all together flooding the small bedroom.

“I can’t take it when you go missing for days with no phone call, you only tell me the tiniest bit of who you’re chasing, and when you finally show up,” another short breath, “oh my God, when you show up you are bleeding so, so much. You get yourself so hurt you have to crawl back to me. And you just expect me to keep patching you up like it’s a fucking game?!” The last part could have been a question but it wasn’t. It was a declaration.

Steve cut off his own words by clasping his hand over his mouth to muffle another sob. He took a moment before he looked back up to the bed.

Billy’s own bright eyes were dripping tears now.  
No, he hadn’t considered how it would affect Steve. He knew the boy would help him no matter what. They have been meeting together for so long in this little bedroom in this little brick apartment it felt like it would never end. The glow of the Christmas lights only ever felt like a mansion in the clouds to Billy. He never thought that each time he came here broken and torn it was Steve’s Hell.

He only saw the worst of Billy and expected the worst from his justice fighting and Billy couldn’t even throw him a scrap of his planing. Or reveal to him his true identity. It was an internal fight just to take off his shitty black mask the first time Billy found himself laid out at the mercy of those angelic hands.

Steve gave him all he could; time, stolen medical supplies, a warm dinner when Billy stayed long enough, and he did all of that without even knowing Billy’s fully name.

Billy couldn’t help but cry as he thought of how selfish he had been.

“This is the worst-,” Steve’s voice was painful down to his bones, “the worst I’ve ever seen you, Billy. You were laying there, white as a fucking ghost already, and I had to carry you into bed. I thought you were dead.” He said the last words so lightly it might have been late February snow fall.

“I thought you were dead.” He looked down at his trembling hands.

Billy reached again for Steve’s leg. It was all he could think to do. Any words coming to his mind felt so shallow and weak in comparison to how much he wanted to hold the other boy to his chest.  
Steve didn’t fight back this time. He let Billy’s fingers grip his leg. He let Billy pull him by his old flannel pants down out of the chair and onto the mattress. Steve crawled over to where he was wanted, tucking his legs against Billy’s and nuzzling his nose into his shoulder. He wanted to touch and to feel but he tried to keep it light, not with the state of it Billy’s wounds.

Billy, however, wasn’t dealing with coy touches that night. He raised himself up to his elbows and turned to loom over Steve like the towering brick walls loomed over him outside. Soft protests of stop and don’t strain yourself were lost in a breathless kiss. Billy tried to put his words into the desperate touch. Steve let him hear his beautiful throaty moans. The words were heard loud and clear.

Billy pressed his luck by pressing himself down onto Steve. The boy rolled to accommodate the heavy weight, even opening his legs for Billy to nest into. It wasn’t the first time they allowed the mood or a good bottle of wine shared between friends get them onto the bed together. But this was the first time it meant something. Really meant something.

This was the first time their kissing tasted like tears and blood, soft lips with a power behind them that was possessive in nature. Enough to take his breath away, Steve let his hands roam the sides of Billy’s naked torso as he breathed out a moan.

Billy was enamored at the way Steve laid under him, body completely pliant under the weight. Completely full of trust when there wasn’t a reason to have any trust. Billy saw to that, keeping the boy in the darkness and only using him as a means to an end. There wasn’t a reason Steve should allow Billy to grind himself hard into his open legs, but he did allow it, and he moaned so beautifully when he did.

Thin fingers stilled their motion up and down his back to grab hard onto Billy’s shoulders. Steve pulled him in closer to kiss him deeper. His long legs folded up on either side of Billy, the fabric of his old flannel was soft against his naked sides, and the motion was comforting in a way. With Steve’s legs holding his waist in place he felt safe in a way he knew he didn’t deserve. But he couldn’t help but crave anything Steve would give him.

Billy flexed one hand against Steve’s slender waist while the other was a fist in the pillow under brown hair. He licked and kissed hard, pleading for anything he could get, while grinding a slow rhythm down. The motion was nothing compared to what they have done before, but the bed creaked dangerously from the effort.

Steve broke the kiss to let out a soft moan desperate and amazing up into Billy’s parted lips.  
“Billy,” his voice was so strained it was almost lost in the squeaking of the bed. “Slow down.”

The desperation in his voice was sticky like taffy, getting caught in the space between Billy’s ears and making him loose his mind.

His hand that was a fist in the pillow under Steve’s head gripped with the strength of all his want. He groaned heavy, showing his teeth and pulling at Steve’s lower lip, while his fingers dug into the pillow. The fabric gave way with a loud rip throwing stuffing and strings all across one side of the bed.

Steve’s eyes snapped open, his hands pulled tighter around broad shoulders. “Slow down,” his voice raised to a demand.

Billy watched as those big brown eyes narrowed on him and under that judgment his pain came back ten fold. All of a sudden, he was acutely aware in the way his fresh stitches were pressed flushed against Steve’s body rubbing themselves raw.

Billy let out a little moan as he lowered his head to lay against Steve’s chest and listened.

“Why don’t you just hold me, idiot?” Steve’s voice sounded like an echo from inside a cave. So far away from Billy.

His hands curled softly on either side of a mess of chocolate brown hair, not caring for the loose stuffing he had ripped in an embarrassing show of weakness. He let himself grow soft like his hands. Steve’s legs were still folded up and holding him gently on either side. And the boy’s heart beat sounded heavenly under his ear. This wouldn’t be a bad place for a nap.

Consciousness was slipping from billy as he thought about telling Steve. Just shouting out his real name, his family’s name, the loss of his mother, the feeling of his fathers fist, the fiery love in his younger sister, the burning from the laboratory chemicals that changed his muscles, Billy so desperately wanted let it all out into the soft golden glow of Christmas lights above them. But his throat wouldn’t work. He was much too tired. Tomorrow, he promised himself. He would stay the night, for the first time in along time, and he would trust Steve to be here in this little brick apartment, this little mansion in the clouds. Then in the morning he would tell Steve everything.

For now they slept.

**Author's Note:**

> This idea is completely inspired by Yikesharringrove off tumblr and [this post!](https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/post/190502478295/i-was-thinking-q-and-james-bond-meets-alfred-and)  
> This plot was so fun to play with. they didn’t bone and break the bed this time but maybe in the morning ;) id love to explore more into this universe as time goes on?  
> Anygay Thanks so much for reading!!


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